


Comfort

by ilcuoreardendo



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, Illnesses, Life Happens, M/M, Mundane, Sickfic, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sickness and surprise visits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> I think this may ultimately result in a "slices of life" type series where I explore the mundane. Originally written and posted at my [Tumblr](http://ilcuoreardendo-fic.tumblr.com).

 

* * *

 

Julian didn’t get sick often, but when he did, he got  _sick_. It was as if his body collected every illness he encountered, melted them down and combined them into one Super Virus. He knew that was absolutely ridiculous, but with everything he’d eaten (tea and a piece of wheat toast) coming back up for the fourth time that night and his head pounding and his skin feeling as though it was both too tight and twenty degrees too hot, he had trouble believing it to be false.

A splash of cool water on his face and he left the bathroom, tossed his sweat damp night shirt in the vague direction of the refresher and fell into the rumpled sheets of his bed.

When he woke he wasn’t sure how much time had passed but his head was ringing again, his throat felt like he’d swallowed a cactus and when he sat up he fell back against the headboard as the room decided to make an ungainly counterclockwise spin.

He made a pitiful noise and jumped when a cool, dry hand slithered across his forehead, fingers gently stroking his temple.

“It’s me, Doctor.”

“Garak?” he croaked, then sighed as the smooth lip of a glass pressed against his mouth, cold water sliding down his throat like ambrosia. When he’d drank enough, Garak took the glass away, then pressed a hypospray to Julian’s neck.

“Wha-?”  
  
“It  _is_  time for your next dose of antivirals.” 

Julian nodded, wondered how the man knew his dosage schedule, how long he’d been in the room…

“Garak…” he said again, voice slurring as the sedative included in the antiviral compound began to grab hold. Garak caught him as he slid sideways, maneuvered him with the ease of an adult putting a small child to bed. (Julian would admit, if only to himself, the tailor’s strength was a turn on. Having a lover who could manhandle him made his insides go hot and a little wibbly. Or maybe that was the fever….)

“Hm?”  
  
“Why’reyou here?”

“I’ve heard it rumored among the medical staff– of various species, mind you—that have passed through this space station, that doctors make the worst patients. Is that true?”

Julian snorted. Tried to keep his eyes open.

“Close your eyes.”

“Mmmph. Stay?” Garak had never stayed. They’d been doing this dance for weeks. He was always gone before morning shift. “Know…know I’m a snotty…hacking…gross mess. S’not the least bit in it for you….”

“Sleep. Julian.” It was a command. Julian could do commands….

He slept.

The image of Garak sliding into the bed followed him down into the darkness.


End file.
